Innocence

An overcast morning, the forecast rain. Already you can feel the invisible droplets touching your face, as though the wind were secretly in love with you. You walk into a coffee shop, order a cappuccino. The girl at the next table is listening to La Boheme, you can hear it through her headphones. Si mi chiamano Mimi. You want to tell her it's too early for that, but instead you dig about in your backpack, take out your notebook, find a pen. The waiter comes over and serves your coffee. You add a sachet of sugar, end up spilling some. The powdered sugar on the dark table top looks like dust, like ash. You open your notebook to a new page but cannot bring yourself to write on it. On your way out you leave two creased notes on the table, weighing them down with a single coin. At the door you notice a scattering of white petals in a puddle. You are careful not to step on them.